


Bad Press

by stephanericher



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: KNBxNBA, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-08 22:54:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12263748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: for once, taiga's the one with no chill





	Bad Press

**Author's Note:**

> happy 10/4
> 
> this is like 5 ideas slapped together i am sorry

People can be fucking awful. It’s not like Taiga doesn’t know that; it’s not like he doesn’t have personal experience with that. People making shit up about people they don’t know for a faulty reason that falls apart faster than a dry sandcastle hit by a wave? Taiga’s had more than a few brushes with that. Less now, at least in a negative way, now that he’s an established name in the NBA. And maybe that’s why all of this blindsides him, because even though it’s got nothing to do with him at all it’s got everything to do with him, too, because it’s about Tatsuya.

It had been a while before Taiga had started to realize Tatsuya placed a lot more in store with others’ perception of him than Taiga did, maybe because Tatsuya always made it look and sound so easy. Play basketball well; people will shut up about your accent and accept you. Smile and nod at adults; do the exact opposite of what they tell you; make sure they don’t find out and they’ll think you’re the kind of kid who follows rules. He’d made it sound like an afterthought, something simple, even though looking back it’s clear that that had been one of the main points. It’s why he covers his eye; it’s why he doesn’t say more than he has to. It’s things Taiga began to realize when he stretched out his legs and realized he could barely fit on the uncomfortable couch in that apartment in Tokyo, when he’d been trying so hard not to think about Tatsuya but did anyway, about how in the end, Tatsuya couldn’t reconcile himself with the image he’d projected.

They’ve grown up since then, obviously. Their self-images are more stable; Tatsuya’s self-esteem doesn’t depend quite so much on arbitrary things that he tries to maintain are within his control. He doesn’t read his own press all the time, even though he’s conscious of it, and he’s the one who always tells Taiga not to read his own. (He’s also, among all the famous people Taiga’s rubbed elbows with, the best at giving an interview to play the media a certain way). And Taiga doesn’t really care if the media doesn’t paint him in the best light because he’s short with reporters; he doesn’t really care about people debating his stats or his worth, especially not outside Chicago. He’s making a living doing what he loves, and all the rest is just some kind of bonus.

But he reads that crap anyway even though he’s one of the ones telling the rookies not to live and die by what the papers and the blogs are saying, whether they’re the real deal or not. The front office thinks they are; it’s up to them to prove it and not get caught up in their own bubble of celebrity and money and hype. He’s still up late scrolling through the news, particularly to find what he’s waiting for no matter how many times Tatsuya says it probably won’t happen, because sure enough Tatsuya’s been named as an All-Star starter. A replacement starter, sure, but it’s not like getting named as a starter means anything other than you’re winning some internet popularity contest. There’s absolutely no fucking way the Celtics fans didn’t stuff the ballot for Midorima this year. He’s a great player and a challenging opponent, but when he’s played approximately five games all season because he’s been injured for most of it, it’s awfully hard to take that seriously. Or view it as fair, or any of this as a judgement on how deserving any of the starters are this year.

(Taiga’s starting; he’d like to think he deserves it, especially when it means spending the weekend in New York with Tatsuya—even more especially if it means he and Tatsuya can be in the same starting lineup repping the Eastern Conference.)

But reading the announcement feels pretty damn good, like justice for Tatsuya who deserves it as much as any guard in the East this year. Not just because Taiga loves him, and not just because he’s so good and steady and consistent, not just because he wants it (and oh, does he want it; there’s something about the prestige that makes it sparkle slowly like a disco ball in the low light in Tatsuya’s eye). But considering his production, his heavy minutes (maybe he’s less efficient but he’s out there on the court all the time, the centerpiece of a Knicks offense that’s better than it has to be, their best option even when more minutes give diminishing returns) and how goddamn fun it is to watch Tatsuya play, there’s no other guard more deserving than him.

Taiga should know better by now than to read the comments. He does know better, but he reads them anyway, like opening the top of leftovers stuck in the back of the refrigerator that he’d forgotten to throw out before he’d gone on a road trip, and still being disgusted by the smell and the mold.

He gets past _not a real starter_ and but _midorima still a starter too??_ because whatever, but then— _doesn’t deserve it_ , and _hometown advantage_ , and _shouldn’t have been him_ , and the vindication of seeing _lol u salty not like the asg means shit_ is completely erased by _poor man’s midorima_. Their play styles are nothing alike; sure they’re both two-way guards but not even in the same way and if Taiga didn’t have to create an account to fire back and if that process didn’t manage to talk him down and make him realize that nothing good will come of arguing with internet assholes, well.

He sends a congratulatory text to Tatsuya reminding him that he absolutely deserves it (and considering he hadn’t won some fucking popularity contest to get there he deserves it more than any of the rest of them—Taiga doesn’t send that, but he types it out before deleting it all; that’s harping too much; it’s too much about him and this is about Tatsuya).

He switches tabs to his favorite Knicks blog, and seeing the celebratory post (as well as the note to fans that they should have voted more, and that even if this is a lost season Tatsuya and the all-star game are the only fucking bright spots) makes it a little bit better, and the comments there—reiterating Tatsuya’s plus-minus compared to the team’s as a whole and going into advanced stats Taiga doesn’t fully understand but seem to back all that up—calm him down enough to go to sleep.

The reporters are circling like buzzards after practice. Taiga tries his best to be patient and answer questions about their game against the conference-leading Magic tonight, the last before the next road trip and then the all-star game, but there are only so many times he can say the same things about playing better and outworking them, that of course defending their stars is tough but he’s up to the task.

“Tatsuya Himuro got named a starting all-star last night. Are you looking ahead to the next game against the Knicks; is it going to be harder to defeat them now they have something to rally around?”

“Tatsuya’s been forcing them to be better than they are all season. They were tough last game; they’re going to be tough next game; I’m taking it one night at a time. But it’s about—uh, about time he gets the recognition he deserves. Anyone who says he didn’t deserve to start should just—well, reevaluate it. Look at how many games he’s won for them.”

“Are you speaking to anyone specifically?”

“No. Just in general. But I’m, uh, focusing on the Magic right now. All our opponents are tough, and we want to end this homestand right.”

(It’s tacked on; he can hear Tatsuya sighing at him in his mind about how he shouldn’t lose his cool, but it’s awfully hard not to when the right subject comes up.)

Tatsuya calls right when Taiga’s waking up from his nap, hungry enough to eat but too tired to get up and cook or go buy something.

“The Celtics fans all hate you now,” Tatsuya says.

“Not like I ever wanted to play for them,” says Taiga.

Tatsuya sighs; he doesn’t say that’s not the point but Taiga hears it.

“Shit,” Taiga says. “You’re not mad, right?”

“No, I’m not,” says Tatsuya. “I mean, I made the team so what they think doesn’t really matter.”

“I know you can stick up for yourself,” says Taiga. “But I still wanted to.”

“I know,” says Tatsuya. “Thank you. But you know I’m going to tell you not to read the comment sections on those things.”

“I know,” says Taiga.

They stay on the line a little longer, until Tatsuya has to go, but Taiga’s left with a warmer feeling, not hot like the indignation coursing through him when he reads those comments but like hand warmers in his pocket when he goes out in the cold, the anticipation bubbling like a fresh can of seltzer of seeing Tatsuya in only two days. Of telling him again how much he deserves this, how happy he is that they can storm the court together.

Those feelings are even stronger when they touch down at the airport, and they explode when Taiga takes Tatsuya in his arms in the doorway of his apartment, holds him close and kisses him before he’s even dropped his suitcase, until Tatsuya steps back and takes it from him. All of Taiga’s angry thoughts are evaporating fast, as if he’s been immersed in a sauna; as soon as they’re back in the bedroom he sits down on the bed and pulls Tatsuya in between his legs to hold him close.

“I missed you so much.”

“I missed you, too.”

Tatsuya kisses him, soft and slow, its own statement more than backing up what he’d said out loud. Taiga’s never going to get tired of this; he’s never going to stop feeling so damn lucky, and he’s never going to not let Tatsuya know it.

They don’t talk about voting or internet comments all that night, but Taiga thinks about it in the morning when Tatsuya makes him breakfast, eggs and bacon and probably half a loaf of bread’s worth of toast. It’s not until after Taiga’s cleaned up the dishes and they’re both trying to put off going to practice as long as they can when Taiga feels like he has to say it one more time.

“It really doesn’t—I mean, you’re okay that people say those kinds of things?”

“I’m just going to have to show them I belong there,” says Tatsuya. “That’s all. If I play well enough, it always shuts those kinds of people up eventually.”

“What are you going to do, score 100 points?” says Taiga.

Tatsuya laughs. “It’s not about showboating, you know. Well, not to that degree.”

“Well, yeah,” says Taiga. “But if you want—”

Tatsuya kisses him, soft and warm, like he’s saying thanks but also, please do.

“I’ll give you alley-oops, all the alley-oops you need,” says Taiga. “If you want to dunk, show them who’s boss…”

Tatsuya smiles, bumping his shoulder against Taiga’s. “Takes too long. I need to toss up long shots, just keep shooting like late stage Kobe.”

Taiga snorts. “C’mon.”

“Well, maybe not quite that bad. They’ll yank me.”

“I won’t let them,” says Taiga.

“You coaching now?”

Tatsuya’s voice is soft, and Taiga gathers him in, kissing the top of his head, his lips sliding across Tatsuya’s hair. He’d do it if he could; he’d let Tatsuya play as much as he wants (well, to the point where he hits his limit, and make him take a break); he’d shut down the whole internet. He’s pretty sure Tatsuya knows that much; he’s pretty sure Tatsuya doesn’t need to be told he’s better than they think he is. But that doesn’t mean Taiga’s not going to tell him that over again.


End file.
